


The Scars of Your Love

by JerseyGirl324



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral Sex, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl324/pseuds/JerseyGirl324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Year That Never Was, the Master recalls the past--and presents the Doctor with choices for the future. An alternate cut of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/947465">I Need a Witness (to See the Mess I've Made)</a>, this time told from the Master's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scars of Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> Click for accompanying artwork by my wonderful fiancee [awabubbles.](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v384/awabubbles/doctormasterbruisesstory.jpg)

The flight deck of the Valiant is eerily quiet and deserted; the only sound is the gentle _whirring_ of the ship’s control panel and the faint hum of its massive engines. Jack waits alone in the middle of the vast space, fully clothed but bound securely to a crude metal chair and gagged to ensure that he creates no unwanted disruptions. He realizes that he has been brought here for a very specific purpose, but despite enduring months of the Master’s endlessly creative torments, he cannot even begin to imagine the sociopathic motivation behind this newest game.

He doesn’t have to speculate for long. As if in answer to his silent fears, the elevator door slides open and the Master emerges onto the flight deck, one arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a visibly uneasy Doctor. Jack is surprised to see that his friend has been de-aged and meticulously dressed for the occasion. He sports a single-breasted black suit cut in the British style, the jacket’s two buttons positioned low to reveal a pressed white shirt and dark silk tie. The well-tailored ensemble is completed with a pair of gleaming black oxfords that stand in stark contrast to his favoured trainers, lending a final air of formality to the overall presentation.

The Master leads his impeccably-attired plaything across the flight deck with easy confidence, the Doctor walking meekly beside him like an obedient puppy. A collar and leash would have been fun, would have made the freak seethe with rage—perhaps even lust—but this is just so much more _satisfying._ The sleek apparel is a conscious departure from those silly brown pinstripes, and chosen to signify the Master’s ownership. The Doctor is attuned to his every subtle movement and command, and keeps his eyes resolutely downcast. The Master catches his furtive glance at Jack, however, and tightens his grip on the Doctor’s waist as they purposefully make their way towards the conference table on the deck’s lower level.

_You would be wise to cooperate. For his sake if not for your own._

The Master feels the Doctor cringe slightly as the veiled threat echoes within his mind, a final warning of the dire consequences of disobedience in this perverse dance between them. He has made his purpose unmistakably clear; there is nothing left for the Doctor to do but dutifully follow along as the Master leads him through the steps of the evening’s production.

 _You know I will_. The reply is soft and unassuming. _Just don’t hurt him._

The Master smirks noncommittally as he backs the Doctor into the table, urging him to lean against its clear surface with authoritative hands that are a continual source of both pleasure and pain. The two Time Lords make for a dangerous pair: a volatile combination that still smolders even after the passage of so many tortuous centuries. They had been inseparable in childhood, both brilliant and mischievous in their own unique ways. In their Academy days, it was widely believed that together they might be capable of anything.

The Master unzips the Doctor’s trousers and lowers them to the ankles, exposing a smooth cock that is already half hard with arousal. A provocative grin plays at the corners of his mouth as he cups the expanding shaft with an indulgent hand. Theta never could resist him. He notices the blossoming flush of shame that creeps across the Doctor’s porcelain cheeks, catches the fleeting spark of need in his downcast eyes, and it is _beautiful_. The Master drops gracefully to his knees, taking the silky length between moist lips and humming gently in encouragement. The Doctor gasps softly and shivers with longing, unable to mask his desire, unable to deny his Master. Threats to his beloved Earth are superfluous when his body is so honest.

The Master hasn’t done this in centuries, but it seems strangely appropriate for the occasion. He used to drive Theta wild with his teasing mouth, and is quite pleased to discover that he hasn’t lost his touch. He chuckles at his lover’s telling reaction and swirls his tongue around the head before licking nimbly from root to tip as the Doctor valiantly struggles to keep still. The Master remembers fondly how Theta would always plead for him, and wonders if the Doctor will do so now.

 _Beg for me_.

 _Master please,_ comes the familiar reply. _Please take me..._

 _No no,_ the Master chides. _I want to hear you beg out loud…_

He smirks licentiously around the head of the Doctor’s cock as a rush of humiliation cascades over their linked minds, enveloping them in feverish heat. The Master revels in his opponent’s internal struggle, fought out in the open before the quiet strength of a patient enemy. The Doctor cannot hide from him now. His foolish modesty, his sanctimonious morality, will ultimately yield to his undying compulsion to protect his stunted humans. But more than that, the Master knows intuitively that the Doctor never fails to yield to his own selfish temptations.

“Master, _please_ take me…” The words come forth as a ragged, broken entreaty that shatters the unnerving quiet of the scene, startling an incredulous Jack who looks on in alarm.

 _Good boy_. The Master purrs his approval, filling the Doctor’s mind with images of red grass and silver-leafed trees as he smoothly takes the expanding cock straight to the back of his throat, relishing the cool, soft flesh as it grows hard beneath his careful tongue. The Doctor’s feedback is encouraging; the shame melts away like snow under the duel suns of their shared home as he opens his mind beautifully to his fellow Time Lord, allowing sensations of pleasure and arousal to explode like supernovas between them. The Doctor whispers the Master’s chosen name aloud, but the pleas that flow from his frenzied brain are for _Koschei, Koschei_ as his old friend pleasures him just as he used to in happier times.

When the Doctor seems ready, the Master gets to his feet and coaxes him upward onto the polished surface of the conference table. He wastes no time in parting his lover’s thighs, pressing two slick fingers into the cleft of his arse and gently massaging the tight ring of muscle below. The Doctor whimpers deliciously as the Master slides the digits inside, biting his lip to stifle a moan as his prostate is brushed with a passing touch. When the fingers are withdrawn, he angles his hips in hungry anticipation, desperate for more contact. The Master readily obliges, rubbing the head of his cock against the Doctor’s entrance with slow, teasing restraint. He smiles affectionately as the receptive sphincters relax and open at the touch, eager to accommodate him.

_You’re always so ready for me._

With one swift push, the Master slides easily inside the Doctor’s tight arse, kissing him deeply with a probing tongue as he stretches and fills every inch of his pliant form. Entering the Doctor’s mind is like slipping into a cool stream; his willing body is soothing balm. The Master filters memories from their childhood into the deepest crevices of his partner’s psyche: the two of them lying on a blanket in the red grass, kissing nervously for the first time, learning each other’s bodies and holding on tightly as though they could never bear to let go. There are still fortified places within the Doctor’s mind, hidden alcoves to which he denies access. The Master will enjoy tearing down those walls in time; no part of the Doctor should ever be closed to him. For now, however, he is simply content to explore all that his fellow Time Lord has made available to him.

_Do you like that, Theta?_

_I’ve missed you so much, Koschei._

The Master moves in a fluid rhythm, taking refuge in the velvet heat of his responsive Doctor, who sways seductively beneath him as they work together as one. In the private world of their conjoined minds, the morning sun rises magnificently over snowcapped mountains, and the shining leaves of the forest are ablaze with the brilliant light of the coming dawn. The young lovers giggle softly as they tentatively touch and explore, careful not to go too far, too fast. But they are ready and eager; they have waited so long for this moment…

_Mine._

_Yours._

The steadfast vows rebound between them sharp and clear as a tolling bell, neither Time Lord able to identify who had spoken first. The outside world falls away and there is only peaceful, uncomplicated bliss as they promise themselves to one another for all eternity.  

When he is certain the Doctor remembers all they once shared, the Master shifts the mental landscape: the youthful pair abruptly fades away, and the bright sun is eclipsed by cold blackness. The Doctor will never recover what he has lost—what he chose to give up. All that remains now is for him to choose a future. Caught off guard, the anguished Time Lord lets out a strangled sob of terror as increasingly disturbing visions flood his mind, borne along by the dark undercurrent of the incessant drums. The Doctor kneels in chains at the Master’s feet, warm blood dripping down his back. He gags in agony as a hard cock spears the back of his throat, using him without mercy, without pity. The world outside burns, but he can do nothing to stop it. He is a slave born to serve his Master.

 _What are you doing?!_ the Doctor implores in quiet desperation. _Please no more…_

He scrambles to reconstruct his dormant mental barriers, but the Master thwarts his frantic attempts with cold, effortless deliberation. He batters the Doctor’s fragile psyche with a relentless tide of cruel images, the brutal fantasies melding together to create a terrifying phantasmagoria of torture and destruction. The Master fucks the Doctor roughly now, tearing him wide open and wrenching raw screams of pain from his parched throat.

_Ko-Koschei…Master! Please stop…_

The Master gradually eases the onslaught and shows the Doctor a different path: the two of them, older now, standing side-by-side and looking down with satisfaction on a new empire of their own making. Their eyes are sparkling and alive; they are omnipotent beings, the last of their kind, vested with the absolute right to control time itself. The two Time Lords have become gods incarnate, consecrated with the power of the Vortex, the universe at their disposal.

_Can’t you see, Doctor? Can’t you see that you are meant to stand with me?_

_You know I’ll never pay that price_ , the Doctor replies weakly.

 _But it’s what we always dreamed about_ , the Master whispers. _It was always meant to be the two of us. Before you ran._

_I’m sorry, Koschei. I’m so sorry…_

Those hushed words are all it takes to rupture the fragile levee within the Master’s own mind, unleashing a violent torrent of rage and hurt that sends the Doctor reeling. Half-hearted apologies may work on his trusting humans, but they are not enough for the Master. He is not a mere companion, to be patronized or consoled like a needy child. He deserves more than that.

 _It doesn’t matter what you choose_ , he remarks with icy restraint. _Partner or captive, you’ll always belong to me._

The Master tears open the Doctor’s crisp white shirt, sending its delicate buttons skittering haphazardly across the flight deck. He runs cool hands idly over the bare skin, goose pimples forming in their wake as he continues to pound into the hot, yielding body that writhes beneath him. All but forgotten, Jack emits a muffled scream of horror as the intimate secrets hidden beneath his friend’s unblemished clothing are exposed to his widening gaze.

The Doctor’s pale chest is a sadistic tapestry of welts and bruises, a patchwork quilt of nasty purples, browns, and reds. In some places, the wounds appear to be healing; in others, they are so fresh that they must have been inflicted only hours earlier, traces of blood still visible on the sensitive skin. The Master reverently traces the crisscrossing scars with a precise tongue and a scrape of pearly teeth, utterly entranced by his own handiwork.

The Doctor’s flesh marks so beautifully; he submits to the pain as though it is his penance, never daring to utter a word of protest. And the Master makes him suffer for his sins, for the choices he has made. With a low growl, he grabs the dangling tie and cinches it around the Doctor’s bared windpipe, savouring the exquisite tightness of the sphincters as they spasm frantically around his cock. He doesn’t cut off enough air to trigger respiratory bypass, for he too can feel the silent gasp, the sharp intake of breath as their commingled neural pathways are flooded with heady, disorienting arousal.

 _Touch yourself_ , he orders firmly. _Make yourself come for me._

The Doctor sighs deliriously as his prostate is repeatedly grazed with the tip of a persistent cock, drops of pre-come sliding lazily down the shaft of his renewed erection. The Master expertly massages the pleasure centers of his brain with psychic fingers, bringing him close, so very, _very_ close. The Doctor obeys the simple command without hesitation, stroking himself languidly in rhythm to the Master’s thrusts. It isn’t long before he is teetering on the brink of climax.

_Oh, and Doctor?_

_Yes, Master?_

_Be sure to scream my name aloud when you do…_

Manic laughter erupts like wildfire within the Doctor’s mind as he quickly and compliantly brings himself to orgasm, the Master’s name forcefully torn from his gasping lungs as he spatters fitfully onto his bruised stomach and chest. The gorgeous sight is enough to bring the Master over the edge; he swiftly floods the Doctor’s body with his own exultant release as they both collapse in a tangled daze atop the smudged, sweaty glass of the conference table.

“Was it good for you, _Theta_?” he sneers, breath harsh against the Doctor’s ear. “I certainly hope that it was.”

The Master permits himself time to bask in the triumphant afterglow before finally withdrawing from the sniveling Doctor, tersely severing the psychic link between them and leaving his partner bereft at the loss of contact. He promptly tucks himself back in, zipping up his crumpled trousers and refastening the belt with a smug air of victory. It is only then that he turns his attention to the neglected human in the nearby chair. Jack regards him warily, his grim face stained with tears as warm spit pools behind the gag that stuffs his aching mouth. The Master cups his cheek with a sticky palm, staring into the hate-filled eyes with cruel satisfaction.

“You were the perfect witness,” he explains casually. “The immortal man—the freak who will live forever with the image of what the glorified Doctor _really_ is.”

The Doctor says nothing, knows better than to even raise his eyes as he carefully redresses as best as he can before lightly taking hold of his partner’s proffered arm. With a sly wink and a grin at Jack, the Master turns on his heel and the pair walk back towards the elevator, disappearing from sight behind the polished steel doors. They are no longer Koschei and Theta; those hopeful, bright-eyed boys are gone, lost forever to the passage of time. Now they are just the Master and the Doctor: chosen names which have come to signify their divergent paths. The Doctor left him once, all those many centuries ago. Left him alone with nothing but the drums and the scarred memories of a haunting past. Reunited by an unlikely twist of fate, the Master will make sure that his fellow Time Lord never abandons him again. And he is certain that the Doctor never could.


End file.
